


The Indecency of It All

by MissMadimeow



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dominant Varric, F/M, Jealousy, Pining, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:07:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26431630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMadimeow/pseuds/MissMadimeow
Summary: Varric considered himself a damn good lover. A gentleman in all aspects. He was soft, caring, and very attentive in administering pleasure.That was, of course, before he entered an unending, self-induced dry spell. It was deserving and surprisingly easy to continue.Until the Inquisitor got her greedy little paws on smut.Then it was a losing battle.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Varric Tethras, Varric Tethras/Female Trevelyan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 44





	The Indecency of It All

Varric considered himself a damn good lover. A gentleman in all aspects. He was soft, caring, and very attentive in administering pleasure. He was undeniably capable of bringing the most modest of nobility into a puddle of muck. Bethsabée, a perfect example. The cute daughter of some irrelevant marquis still sends him letters. She had fallen hopelessly in love, the poor thing.

That was, of course, before he entered an unending, self-induced dry spell. Tormenting himself so was the needed painful reminder of what he lost. His hand became his only silent lover. It was deserving and surprisingly easy to continue, years later.

Until the Inquisitor got her greedy little paws on smut.

It started with his own work of fiction. Swords & Shields, aptly named. Varric knew the human would stumble across it, and like most women in their youth, enjoyed the aspect of glorious romance.

Then one clouded morning, Evelyn stomped through the keep, approached him at his appointed table by the hearth, and slammed the book down on top of his papers.

“That’s it?” She asked.

“That’s it.” Varric responded in finality, brushing the object away so he could continue with his work.

“I thought you said this was dirty.”

“I believe the word I used was ‘tasteless’.” He looked up at the human.

She was slim and short, unpredictable aspects for someone who carried herself like a warrior, sword attached at the hip. Her bronze hair was pulled back in a ponytail high on the crown of her head. Messy, of course, because she was a messy, loud woman.

Her eyes were pale like faded glass and features rounded and smooth—the work of ointments as he knew very well she’d be covered in scars if it wasn’t for the ingrained desire to appear angelic, untouched and beautiful.

He wondered about her age. No doubt early twenties, nearly half his age.

“You avoided using any fun vocabulary.” The Inquisitor continued her comical pout.

“And what do you consider ‘fun’ vocabulary, Short-stuff?”

Happy to oblige, she pulled up a chair beside him about an arms-length away and leaned in. “ _Fellation_. _Callipygian_.” Ever the more closer. A wink and a mischievous sparkle in her eye. “ _Riding bareback_. _Blessing the winking eye of the Maker_.”

“My, my. That’s quite the imagination you have.” Varric never envisioned hearing dirty slurs coming out of such a pretty, delicate mouth. The leader of the Inquisition was an anomaly. His eyebrows mirrored the shock. “Maybe you should take up the quill.”

“Me?” She puffed out a sigh and leaned back. “Hardly a career for someone as inexperienced as myself.”

“Some of the best erotica I’ve read was written by supposed virginal maidens.”

“Who said anything about being a virgin?”

“Ah, I’m mistaken. Missionary maiden, then?”

“Are you asking me what sex positions I’ve taken part of, Varric?”

“Only making conversation.”

“Instead of asking, I could just show you.” Thinly trimmed eyebrows wiggled suggestively at him. “I’ve never been with a dwarf before.”

“Hard like the stones we hail from.”

There was one thing in life Varric would never relinquish and that was flirting. Especially when it came to the Herald. So untouchable high up on her throne of dragon teeth. Many have attempted that conquest and royally failed, and Varric would be lying if he said he didn’t like the idea of her yearning for him.

Evelyn laughed, musical and light. “Will you let me borrow your virginal maiden erotica then?”

“As long as you don’t get the pages stuck together.”

“No promises.”

“That’s my girl.” Without thought, he dug out the key to his quarters and placed it in her open palm. She closed her fingers around his own and smiled.

“You could come up with me.”

“And deny you the chance to dig through my smallclothes? No, you go snoop.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m the definition of a boring old man, I know.” He turned back to his inked parchment in hopes that was enough of a dismissal. The woman did not stir. He could feel her wanting gaze pinching through his skin and he inwardly begged the powers that be to whisk her away before he took her up on her offer.

Silently, she stood and left in a whiff of red wine and battle sweat.

Varric let out the breath he was holding. Damn his abstinence.

* * *

“We should start a bookclub.” Evelyn started, absentmindedly stroking the gilded cover of the novel in her hands. Beside her, Varric scratched at another long-winded letter to the Merchant’s Guild. He was growing tired of his responsibilities.

“We?” He asked, distracted.

“Us.”

“And what books would be involved?”

“These ones, of course.”

“Ah, a pornography bookclub.”

“Yes.”

“And we are the sole members.”

“Yes.”

“And we would discuss…”

“What every bookclub discusses: our favorite chapters, characters, scenes…” The woman counted on each finger, her smile building with each digit.

For the first time in a while, Varric turned away from his work. He reached for a mug of ale and took a long, thirsty gulp before adding with a nod to the Inquisitor. “The subtle glamour of Sir Beastly going down on Lady Belle.”

She leaned in eagerly. “Too much tongue, or too little?”

“Considering her wanton reactions, I’d say just right.”

“See! How fun.”

A pause. “I think it would be more appropriate if you roped Curly into this idea.”

“Why do you say that?” She was browsing the book once more. Fingers delicately flipping the pages.

“Because he is more likely willing to bend you over after reading an especially naughty chapter.”

“And you are not.” A snap as the book closed. The brunette fell back into her seat and frowned.

Varric sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Crestfallen.”

Evelyn shrugged and shook her head with apparent annoyance. “You want this as much as I do.”

“It’s not about want.” She knew better. It was widely known. Varric was untouchable.

“It’s because I’m not Bianca.”

Varric didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. He watched the color drain out of rosy cheeks and a shadow of disappointment blanketed them. She was asking him to say what he truly did not want to. The idea of the type of pain on her face when he said ‘ _yes, it’s because you’re not Biana_ ’ was too agonizing to imagine.

“You curse yourself. And all for a married woman on the other side of the continent.” Loudly and clumsily Evelyn got to her feet and stomped a few steps before wheeling back. “You lead me on for months—hell, since I met you. And _now_ you play celibate? What the fuck, Varric.”

He wanted to apologize, explain that he thought she shared the same playful view of their interactions, but his tongue stayed in his closed mouth, unmoving. He deserved the punishment.

“I don’t want Cullen. I don’t want anyone else. I want _you_.” Her shoulders fell in a collapse of energy. “Maker, you’ve cursed us both.” With a disheartened whisper to the floor, she left.

Varric rubbed his hand over his entire face. He was so tired.

* * *

Weeks later they were sharing drinks and games with the misfit crew at the Herald’s Rest. The Herald herself was doing quite the opposite of resting, bouncing from person to person, wild laughter echoing off the brick walls, ale splashing over the floorboards. She was animated in all her glory, a celebration of sorts after a long day in the Wastes.

Varric still had sand in his boots. The sodding places she dragged him.

“Is that a bet?” Evelyn’s flirtatious purr pulled the dwarf away from his hand of cards.

It was a tone she used to carry only for himself, but this time she was whispering into someone else’s ear. The curled-blonde head of the ex-Templar bobbed low with a chuckle. Across the table, she was sitting in his lap. Her arm was around his neck.

Like a shot from his crossbow, Varric felt his chest convulse with a sharp twitch.

Throwing her bronze head back with another chime of laughter, her eyes landed on his with purpose. She wanted him to watch. See her wiggle and writhe against another man. Her blouse was unbuttoned from the top. On display the smooth, supple skin of her breasts, moving ever-so-slowly with each drawing breath. Curly kept secretly staring at her cleavage with amazement. Like a child in a sweets-shop.

She smiled at Varric. Her eyes, so piercing, so knowing and cruel.

He hated her.

* * *

With blinding splendor the Inquisitor twisted Varric’s mind into knots.

He took to pacing the numerous courtyards and stone steps around the castle grounds because he could not think properly, and he wouldn’t dare return to his quarters in fear he would selfishly palm himself when he thought of her.

It began to rain and it suited his mood. The only thing he missed was the familiar burn in his throat his pipe offered. Maker knows he had enough liquor in his system, the cold wind felt like nothing against his skin.

A tower loomed over. It was Rutherford’s, the handsome prick. A single candle-lit window stood out amongst the gloom and approaching storm. A shadow passed over it, someone was awake and shuffling inside. Varric pictured her up there with the man. Wondered if she was having her desires finally fulfilled, her skin touched, tasted.

His mouth dried. Foul. And he spun on his heels.

In his frustration he came to stand under the woman’s own tower, higher than all in majesty. He silently and drunkenly willed her form to appear in a window. Anything to prove to him that she was there. Alone and un-caressed.

As if by divine intervention, a profile passed, and Varric breathed shakily.

That same broken, resentful breath carried him all the way to her door. Hesitation would have been a savior in that moment but it was nowhere to be found. He grabbed the handle. It was unlocked, an intended invitation.

He climbed the steps and there she was. Her small form swam in the large expanse of an Orlesian bed frame, drapery and velvet floating around her. Of course her room would be decadent. She was the definition of spoiled.

“Varric?” Evelyn partially rose from her lying position. She was evidently shocked. The pure white sleeping robe and loose hair falling past her shoulders seemed fittingly virtuous.

Varric stepped further into the room causing her to sit up properly. “What—”

“Get up.” He said, sharply, an order from the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want to spend another moment in that room. Not in that bed. It was too soft, too comfortable, too amorous. He was not in the mood for romance.

The Inquisitor blubbered in response, unable to move in her stupor, so he strode over and grabbed her delicate wrist, pulling hard and dragging her to her bare feet. He led her down the stairs, through the quiet dampened halls of the keep, and she stayed a silent follower.

Outside, the storm raged. The garden’s courtyard was bombarded with torrential downpour, the overhang above them barely keeping them dry. Forcefully, Varric pushed Evelyn towards a table littered with potted plants and supplies.

“Up.” He commanded and she listened by hopping up onto its surface. Patiently the woman stared at him, blinking with her folded hands on her lap, legs swinging. He supposed she was expecting him to give her a harsh lesson in teasing. It was obvious her actions earlier that night irritated him.

Instead of words, he dragged a short chair over to dangling white feet. “Lay down.” 

Eyes finally wide in understanding, a blush crept across her cheeks and down the length of her exposed neck. It was lust that clouded her steel eyes as she slowly and carefully fell onto her back. _Let her imagine herself in one of her filthy novels_ , he thought. 

He got to his knees on the chair. Hands placed on her legs, he forced them apart, the thin pale dress around them rose. His fingers reached up and grabbed the hem of delicate underclothes. Evelyn’s breath hitched as he yanked them down, allowing the fabric to precariously sway from one of the ankles at his hip. 

“Don’t say I never did anything for you.” He said, almost bitterly, and grabbed at the flesh of her thighs and tugged, pulling her entire body closer. 

“I wouldn’t dare.” The Inquisitor panted up at him, spreading her legs even wider, anticipation heaving her chest. There, unprotected, she was presented before him. Varric swallowed before leaning forward and placing his tongue against soft folds. Tantalizing, agonizingly slow, he dragged it bottom to top. 

Evelyn whined. What a taste. Ancestors preserve him.

He wouldn’t let himself look away from her face as he fumbled with the clasp of his pants. With shaking hands, he freed himself, and with one single, fluid, destructive, irresistible thrust entered her completely. 

She cried out and the sky followed with a crack of thunder. 

A pot fell to the ground in a shatter and Varric enjoyed the sound so much, he bit back the desire to smash them all. Blindly, with need, he reached up and grasped the woman’s pale throat, feeling the heavy heartbeat within, the whimpers as he thrust with wild abandon. 

Ripping at the collar of her dress, spilling breasts that bounced with each movement. He grabbed onto those as well, plucking hard at the pebbled nipples in the cold night air. 

Another shatter as the woman reached to grasp the top edge of the table, knocking everything over in the process. 

He was nearly driven mad by the image of the Herald of Andraste, innocent white dress like her namesake, arching her back with his name on her lips, attempting to hold on as the furniture buckled underneath. 

Quickly, with a desire for a change in position to save his sodding knees, Varric leaned into the chair beneath him, pulling Evelyn along. The smart girl clambered on top of him without complaint. With a tight grip on his shoulders, she eased down, swallowing him and releasing a gasp from deep within. 

Varric’s breath faltered with a groan as she rode him. 

And there, in the darkness of the night, in the midst of a raging storm, Varric tasted the skin that tormented him for so long. He pulled her beautiful brown hair as it whipped in the breeze and in turn she scratched at the back of his neck. A match of desperation. The shared agony of the need for release. 

Her hips rotated and ground in a ruthless circle, causing his hands to grab at her ass, searching for more contact even though they could be no closer.

She moaned his name once more.

He promised himself he would never kiss her. But as he felt the sharp incline of completion building in his stomach, he pulled her down to his lips and did just that. The forbidden fruit was warm and sweet.

And he spilled into her. 

Another drum of thunder and the flash of lightning brightened the woman’s flushed features. She was staring down at him, motionless and still very much wrapped around him. She was so, so young.

“Shit, Shorty.” Varric rubbed at his face at the immediate violent wave of guilt. He shouldn’t have been so rough. It seemed horrible in the aftermath. His thirst was monstrous.

Evelyn chuckled warmly and grabbed his hands, cradling them in her own. She sensed his unease. “See, bookclub can be fun.” 

He didn’t say anything as he helped ease her off of him. The mess left behind was embarrassing and Varric retrieved the handkerchief out of his jacket pocket with disdain. He silently cleaned himself and felt the Inquisitor’s usual intense inspection. 

“Didn’t take you as the jealous type.” She said, arms wrapped around her thin body in the cold. Bare feet tip-toed on the chilled stone with a voice barely heard over the rain.

“Just a drunken moment of weakness.” Varric couldn’t bring himself to stand if he wanted to.

“So it won’t happen again?”

“No, it won’t.”

“You didn’t enjoy yourself?”

He gave her a look.

“It’s not about enjoyment. Right, I get it. But you kissed me, Tethras. And I know for a fact you’ll want to do it again.” Cleverly and teasingly she leaned down to his level, lips still pink with desire. 

“So when that urge hits you,” She whispered against his mouth. “Don’t fight it. Or else I’ll be forced to crawl into Cullen’s lap once more.”

Blackmail, the cursed woman. Of course he was going to kiss her again. 

Varric sighed resignedly. “You’re going to be the end of me.”

She smiled and went back inside.

And what glorious end it shall be. 

**Author's Note:**

> I borrowed these two (in a way) from my long-winded story "Madness & Dragon Piss" which is still currently in process.  
> If you enjoy my work, please keep an eye out for that title. Thank you for reading!


End file.
